Hand to Hold
by inmyarms57
Summary: He didn't see the crumpled metal or the blood that covered his face. All he saw was the hand that laid against the cool concrete. The hand that still felt like he held.
1. Chapter 1

_All the treasures of my life  
__Are right here in my hand.  
__~ "Colors Grace" Potter & The Nocturals_

It was just a glass of wine, one.

He had nursed it throughout the evening. Turning down another with a smile when Brooke offered.

He had been content with just the one he told her and watching another as she floated around the room, at least to him it seemed as if she was. He could even tell she had been faking the smile she wore, nodding at what he assumed had been just the right time and he couldn't help but wink when her gaze had shifted his way and that smile she wore, drifted to her eyes.

He should have been mingling or at least standing beside her listening to another editor tell him how happy they were he had finally published another book. But he wasn't.

Instead he had watched her from across the room, wondering how he had gotten so lucky to have her in his life, nursing that one glass of wine. She hadn't wanted to come and he knew that. Told him she hadn't been feeling well but she came anyways because she loved him. And it was his night, his time to shine she had said.

She slipped on that simple black dress that clung to her curves in just the right way, styled her hair just right and kissed their daughters forehead with a faint _goodnight _and _love you forever_ falling from her lips before following him out of the house and into that old vintage mustang.

He told her he loved her and he'd make it up to her and she had simply smiled, leaned across the seat and pressed her lips to his temple with a whispered _you better_ and a smile.

That had been hours earlier and that one glass of wine felt good going down; smooth and sweet and he knew he'd always remember that one glass of wine and how it tasted and the way she smiled and how it changed his life.

* * *

She had three and when she giggled, her arms slipping around his neck with that look in her eyes, he couldn't help but laugh and pull her closer to him. She had told him she wasn't going to drink on the way over and that he should bask in all the glory of his accomplishments, he had simply nodded, handed her the keys and grabbed that one glass of wine as a server walked by, he held throughout the evening.

He laughed when she handed back the keys at one point in the evening, her green eyes twinkling when she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear that it had been Brooke and Haley's fault. _They were bored after all_ she had said teaseling, a smile on her face.

One of the few real ones she wore that evening.

One that he found himself memorizing and the way she looked as she leaned back, her eyes bright and those blonde locks flowing down her back. He told himself to burn it in his mind, to remember it for another time for deep down, something whispered to him he'd be clinging to this moment and every one that he had memorized throughout their lives together.

He held her to side after saying their goodbyes to their friends and he received another congratulator pat on the back from his editors and she smiled that smile he adored with pride in her eyes.

And he wondered once again how he had gotten so lucky as to have _her_ loving_ him_.

Her arm slipped around his waist, her words low, soft, barely a whisper as they slowly made their way through the parking lot and he told himself to remember that moment and those words and the way her eyes shone in the moonlight when he pressed a hand to her cheek before she slipped into the car, her fingers trailing down his arm before gently grasping his hand in hers with a gentle squeeze.

_Bliss_ that was all he could think as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road moments later, her hand in his as he stirred the car through the familiar roads of their hometown and back home to their daughter; _pure bliss. _

That's all that crossed his mind as she held his hand and he drove that old car down those old familiar roads.

At her whispered words of _love you_ he turned to smile, his gaze shifting momentarily from the road to her. An action he'd done a thousand times before that turned into one he wished he had never done as headlights bore down on them, his head jerking back to the road, her hand tightening it's hold, her nails digging into his palm and a gasp of his name escaped her lips, so soft that for the rest of his life, he'd wonder if he had imagined it.

Squealing brakes and crunching metal filled the night air and all he could see was the night,_ their_ life flash before him just before he was propelled forward and the world spun around before the car came to rest upside and he sought for her hand in the darkness and found nothing.

With a groan, he pulled himself from the crumpled car, limping to a standing position and slowly walked around what use to be the front of the car, his eyes scanning the scene, oblivious to the blood that covered his face and the faint stinging sensation in his right hand.

All he saw, laying in the moonlight, was her hand extended from passenger side of the crumpled car, her eyes open staring straight ahead and all he could think was; _It was just one glass and she was his wife._

* * *

He wants to be angry. Angry at her, at life, at himself but he can't and he can't stop starring at the flickering flame of those candles he had lit hours before.

They were hers, purchased the day before _that_ night and burned once, until now.

He had watched her that night, the one before _that_ night his world changed, as she lay soaking in the tub, her eyes closed, _The Cure's Pictures of You_, faintly playing in the background and those candles flickering in the darkening room.

She had sensed him and he knew from the way her lips curved upward and her eyes fluttered open, the candlelight shining in her eyes and that look that told him she'd loved him and always would.

But she couldn't do that anymore, look at him that way nor tell him how she loved candlelight and him and their life because she was gone and all that was left behind was emptiness, a hole that just didn't feel right.

And he just couldn't understand how he was here and she wasn't.

He had clung to her, cradling her head on his lap, his hand grasping hers, begging her to squeeze it, her name soft on his lips until Nathan pulled him from her. Telling him to let paramedic's do their job.

He had fought his hold, his cries filling the night air until that moment the paramedic looked his way with a look that silenced his cries and caused his heart to break into a thousands pieces.

When the ambulance pulled away, it's lights silently flashing, he had fallen to his knees, his head falling to his chest and that ache he felt once so long ago, crept over him and swept through his soul.

She was gone and he was alone.

* * *

He hadn't cried. Not when Brooke wrapped her arms around him, her tears soaking his shirt, her words faint, asking him _why_. Not even when Haley's glistening eyes met his in the dim moonlight, her name falling from her lips through a broken sob. Nor when Nathan silently led him to the back of his car and drove the streets of Tree Hill back to their home.

Back to their daughter and a life that suddenly seemed huge and empty and cold without her. He didn't cry. Not one tear.

And he didn't cry now, sitting there watching those flickering flames with thoughts of her playing in his mind.

Thoughts, memories he wanted to bury himself in and forget all at once.

With a sigh he slowly stood, the bed creaking from his movement and made his way out of their bedroom and down the hall, his eyes drifting to the couch where Sawyer laid sleeping. Her golden curls covering her face. Curls he once told Peyton he wanted their child to have; a child that would look just like her.

That's what she was, Sawyer, the spitting image of her mother. Right down to those emerald eyes, eyes he knew would now be just as haunted.

She had clung to him. His words had faded at the sound of her cries. Words he couldn't believe himself and yet he played them in his mind as he held their daughter in his arms, trying to tell himself to believe them. One small arm had wrapped tightly around his neck, the other clasping his hand in hers as her faint cries for a woman they both needed, wanted, filled his head.

He had held her until she drifted to sleep in his arms before carefully disentangled himself from her grip, needing to escape.

Needing to find _her_.

Needing to find the peace she gave and failing.

That had been hours ago and now, as he stood there watching their daughter sleep, that emptiness, that ache he felt, grew and he needed to escape all over again.

Turning away from her sleeping form, he slipped back down the hall and into bathroom. It was dim and silent and it still smelled like her, vanilla and lavender. Like she had just been there, showering, bathing, and getting ready for the day.

But she hadn't. It had been a mere twelve hours since she stood on those tiles, telling him she didn't feel well with her brush in hand and her eyes meeting his in the mirror, all with a faint smile on her lips. He had tried to convince her to stay home but she had only turned, pressed a hand to his cheek and told him, with a teasing smile, a few hours out with him wouldn't kill her.

_If only she knew_, he thought, his eyes scanning the room, his vision blurring when he caught sight of that book, his latest, laying on the edge of the sink where she had left it hours before. With shaky hands he picked it up and gently ran a hand over it's cover, following a path he knew hers had taken. He had seen her do it all with a faint smile on her lips before she glanced up at his eyes with, her own glistening with tears he knew were happy ones.

_You used it_, she had said. It was a picture of them; Sawyer, her and him blurred for the world but she knew those shapes, those forms and that place and he could only smile her way before she launched herself into his arms, whispering how she'd love him for eternity and a day.

And now, standing, leaning against the sink, he wondered how eternity only lasted fifteen years.

* * *

He sat there for hours, on that floor with that book in his hands, her scent engulfing him in memories he wanted to loose himself in.

She was there. Embedded in the walls of that room and all the others. She was captured in the frames that lined the hallway and the eyes of their daughter. She was there.

And yet she wasn't and that thought, at that moment made breathing hard and the tears to come.

He cried. Cried like he hadn't in years, his head falling to hands as sobs racked his body until there were no tears to cry and the numbness he'd been craving, washed over him.

Letting out a shaking breath, his gaze landing on a forgotten crayon tucked in the corner of the bathroom. His eyes closed as a memory of Sawyer sitting on top of the closed toilet, paper in hand drawing as Peyton sat soaking in the tub, watching their daughter with utter contentment. He had watched them, hidden in the shadows of the hall, a smile of his own and an overwhelming feeling of love washing over him at the way Sawyer looked.

Her tongue sticking out slightly, her blonde curls hanging loosing across her face and Peyton's voice softly drifted through the room each time Sawyer held that drawing up for her mother's inspection.

Now he reached for that crayon, opened that book to the dedication; _To my heart, my soul…My everything, _it read and his breath hitched at those words.

They had made her cry. Made her cling to his shirt, her fist clenching so tightly to him that her knuckles had gone white and he did the only thing he knew to stop those tears, to reinsure her they were true, he kissed her and she cried harder.

With a deep breathe, he pressed that crayon to that page and began to write.

"_She loved music."_

Because that's what he did, he wrote. He was a writer.

"_She loved art."_

And those tears, he thought were gone, fell all over again.

"_Her eyes were green, dotted with speaks of gold."_

A tear fell, hitting the page and blurring those words and he continued to write.

"_She loved me. She loved Sawyer and we loved her."_

That crayon flew across that page, line after line, and memory after memory.

He wrote how she smelled and how she clung to him for no reason at all. He wrote how he loved the way she'd blushed when he'd tell her she was beautiful. He put those words to paper, words like _unforgettable, strong, brave…his._

That's where Haley found him, hours later when the sun had begun to set, frantically writing her down

Putting words to paper before he could forget because forgetting her would be the worst thing he could ever do.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Lately I feel like a piece of my soul is hanging around for everyone to hold."  
__~ "Fooling Myself" Grace Potter & The Nocturnals_

Haley gave him a number to call and a pamphlet that listed the five stages of grief, each with an explanation of what he should expect.

He knew what that number was for too. She had told him, her words low as she stared at him with careful eyes. He knew she was waiting for him to break, to fall to pieces but he just smiled told her he was fine and he'd call if he needed someone to talk too.

But for now he was fine. Sawyer was fine.

But who he needed, all he needed, was Peyton. He wanted her to walk through the front door of their home and hear her call his name. He wanted to sit on the porch and watch as she'd pull up, their daughter on his lap and a smile on her face at the sight of them waiting for her.

He wanted to hear her tease him about the tears. See the look of worry in her eyes from his lack sleep. He wanted to see her roll those green eyes over his need to sit for hours in her car going no where.

He just wanted her and he wouldn't care about the teasing. No he would give anything to just have her back. To see her before him, his wife, his friend with her smile, her walk, her touch, her heart and her eyes.

He'd give it all away to be holding her hand instead of those pamphlets about those fives stages.

_Stage one – Denial_

_This first stage of grieving helps us to survive the loss. In this stage, the world becomes meaningless and overwhelming. Life makes no sense. We are in a state of shock and denial. We go numb. We wonder how we can go on, if we can go on, why we should go on. We try to find a way to simply get through each day. Denial and shock help us to cope and make survival possible. Denial helps us to pace our feelings of grief. There is a grace in denial. It is nature's way of letting in only as much as we can handle._

He still acted like she was there.

He spoke to her, asking her opinion on things like; _was this the right shirt with these pants_ or _did he dress Sawyer in the right clothes for picture day, was it the right dress she had wanted her to wear._

He still brought her coffee in the morning. Setting it beside her side of the bed and ignoring the fact that he knew it was Brooke who took them away, tossing the cold coffee down the drain and repeating the same actions everyday behind him.

He would text her during the day, answering replies he never really got but in his mind he heard that familiar tune, read her words that weren't really there. He'd call her cell and listen to her voice, never leaving a message. He'd just hang-up and redial just to hear her voice all over again and knowing she hated that the most.

He'd walk to her office, climb those stairs and sit in front of her desk, his mind seeing her sitting there before him with that smile that told him all he really knew; that she loved him. He'd sit there for hours, talking with her until Haley led him away and back to their home.

In the afternoons, he'd take Sawyer to the park, her small hand in his left and the feel of hers in his right. He'd watched Sawyer as she swing, her eyes dull and he'd lean into no one, softly whispering that she should talk to her, find out why she seemed so sad. He'd sit there for hours on that bench, watching Sawyer and believing she was there beside him until Nathan would sit down beside him, watching that little girl with the sad eyes.

It was always then at that moment with his brother sitting beside him, that she'd fade away and the truth stared him in the eyes.

She was gone.

_Stage Two – Anger_

_Anger is a necessary stage of the healing process. Be willing to feel your anger, even though it may seem endless. The more you truly feel it, the more it will begin to dissipate and the more you will heal. There are many other emotions under the anger and you will get to them in time, but anger is the emotion we are most used to managing. The truth is that anger has no limits. It can extend not only to your friends, the doctors, your family, yourself and your loved one who died, but also to God. Underneath anger is pain, your pain. It is natural to feel deserted and abandoned, but we live in a society that fears anger. Anger is strength and it can be an anchor, giving temporary structure to the nothingness of loss. At first grief feels like being lost at sea: no connection to anything. Then you get angry at someone, maybe a person who didn't attend the funeral, maybe a person who isn't around, maybe a person who is different now that your loved one has died. Suddenly you have a structure – - your anger toward them. The anger becomes a bridge over the open sea, a connection from you to them. It is something to hold onto; and a connection made from the strength of anger feels better than nothing. We usually know more about suppressing anger than feeling it. _

_The anger is just another indication of the intensity of your love._

He'd explode for no reason. Yell when Sawyer would run down the hall, her feet thudding against the hardwood floors and he'd scream. Telling her to stop, his eyes blazing and then after she'd had gone to her room; he'd slide down the wall with tears in eyes, angry with Peyton for leaving.

Angry with himself, for believing it was her fault.

He punched Dan one night after seeing him walking down the street. Yelling that it wasn't fair he was there and she was gone.

That it should had been him because she was good and he was evil and he needed her. Sawyer needed her.

He yelled at her one morning, after he couldn't get Sawyer to get moving. He threw her picture across the room; it's glass shattering against the wall, angry tears falling from his eyes and words he wished he never said, filling the air.

He screamed at her, yelling if she had loved him she wouldn't have left him because after all she had promised.

He threw things, pulled her records from the selves and watched them scatter across the floor, his screams fading at the look of sadness in the eyes of his daughter.

And he cried as he rocked her in his arms, with Peyton's record scattered around them.

_Stage Three - Bargaining. _

_Before a loss, it seems like you will do anything if only your loved one would be spared. "Please God, " you bargain, "I will never be angry at my wife again if you'll just let her live." After a loss, bargaining may take the form of a temporary truce. "What if I devote the rest of my life to helping others. Then can I wake up and realize this has all been a bad dream?"_

_We become lost in a maze of "If only…" or "What if…" statements. We want life returned to what is was; we want our loved one restored. We want to go back in time: find the tumor sooner, recognize the illness more quickly, and stop the accident from happening if only…if only…if only. Guilt is often bargaining's companion. The "if onlys" cause us to find fault in ourselves and what we "think" we could have done differently. We may even bargain with the pain. We will do anything not to feel the pain of this loss. We remain in the past, trying to negotiate our way out of the hurt. _

He told himself if could write it differently, that moment, then it would change and she'd be here.

He'd sit there for hours, in front of his computer, replaying that moment in words. He'd write about the sound of metal against metal and how the car slid to a stop.

He'd write how it was she who climbed out of that car. How it was she who reached for him, calling his name. He'd put the words down; describe them in detail how she'd fall to her knees, begging him to wake and how she'd cry for him.

He'd write those words over and over, each time ending with her alive and him dead.

He'd stare at those pages, at those words until he'd find himself falling to his knees and begging the heavens above to turn the clock back. To give him the chance to remind himself not to have that one drink and hold her hand just a little tighter, if only.

He'd call Julian and beg him to make that movie, to make it right, to create that moment again and change it all, to help him correct the wrong and give her back her life.

To give back her happily ever after.

But it never happened and he'd sit there, night after night, before that computer, writing those words that would change _that_ moment, if only in words because in words she was here and he wasn't.

_Stage four -Depression._

_After bargaining, our attention moves squarely into the present. Empty feelings present themselves, and grief enters our lives on a deeper level, deeper than we ever imagined. This depressive stage feels as though it will last forever. It's important to understand that this depression is not a sign of mental illness. It is the appropriate response to a great loss. We withdraw from life, left in a fog of intense sadness, wondering, perhaps, if there is any point in going on alone? Why go on at all? Depression after a loss is too often seen as unnatural: a state to be fixed, something to snap out of. The first question to ask yourself is whether or not the situation you're in is actually depressing. The loss of a loved one is a very depressing situation, and depression is a normal and appropriate response. To not experience depression after a loved one dies would be unusual. When a loss fully settles in your soul, the realization that your loved one didn't get better this time and is not coming back is understandably depressing. If grief is a process of healing, then depression is one of the many necessary steps along the way._

He'd find himself crying, mostly late at night after he'd reach for her and find her side of the bed, empty. He'd lie there staring at the ceiling, telling himself she was just checking on Sawyer but then, like a whisper he'd hear her voice in his ear, telling him it would be all right and he'd cry.

They'd spend hours at her grave, he and Sawyer. He'd tell her stories about how they met and whisper that she had her mother's laugh and cry when she'd turn in his arms, with tears in her eyes, asking for her mother back.

He locked himself away in her office, sitting in the middle of the studio with _The Cure_ blaring through the speakers, with tears in his eyes as he saw her laughing before him, telling him she always knew he secretly loved _The Cure _with that look in her eye, that told him she loved him.

He drank it away, that look in her eye. Buried it beneath the hazy of alcohol and the attention of some girl who sought his. He masked it with another shot of tequila, a drink he hated but one Peyton had loved so he tossed it back, grabbed that girl's hand and led her from the bar and back to _her_ office and needing to bury the pain away.

But with the slamming of the door, a picture fell from the wall, with words she had told him once, she had long ago stop believing in, stared back up at him from the floor; _People always leave._

He sent that girl away before falling to his knees and letting the sobs rack his body for memories he had chased away.

For the memories he was letting himself forget.

_Stage Five - Acceptance._

_Acceptance is often confused with the notion of being "all right" or "OK" with what has happened. This is not the case. Most people don't ever feel OK or all right about the loss of a loved one. This stage is about accepting the reality that our loved one is physically gone and recognizing that this new reality is the permanent reality. We will never like this reality or make it OK, but eventually we accept it. We learn to live with it. It is the new norm with which we must learn to live. We must try to live now in a world where our loved one is missing. In resisting this new norm, at first many people want to maintain life as it was before a loved one died. In time, through bits and pieces of acceptance, however, we see that we cannot maintain the past intact. It has been forever changed and we must readjust. We must learn to reorganize roles, re-assign them to others or take them on ourselves._

_As we begin to live again and enjoy our life, we often feel that in doing so, we are betraying our loved one. We can never replace what has been lost, but we can make new connections, new meaningful relationships, and new inter-dependencies. Instead of denying our feelings, we listen to our needs; we move, we change, we grow, and we evolve. We may start to reach out to others and become involved in their lives. We invest in our friendships and in our relationship with ourselves. _

He was becoming good at letting the world believe he was okay. That he was fine and moving on but he wasn't and as he starred at that pamphlet and that last stage, acceptance, he wondered if it really existed because accepting that she was gone, meant she wasn't coming back.

So he went on making believe he was okay. Continued to talk to her in the afternoon, cursing her at night and begging for her forgiveness in early morning hours. He'd sit there, at that desk, writing those words about her until he got them just right.

He'd take Sawyer to the park and to that spot where she said _I do_ and promised him forever. He'd lay there, late at night waiting for the sound of her car, waiting for the moment she'd walked through that door, calling his name.

But she never did that and he started to realize he was living through those stages and she was gone and he was alone in a world that seemed to large, to empty and cold without her.


	3. Chapter 3

_I wish that we could begin from the start  
__I pray that I could be brave enough  
__To show you how easily I fall apart  
__But I can't let you know  
__And I can't let it show  
__Because I'd rather be without than be without you.  
__~Jack Savoretti "Without"_

He was growing tried of the stares. The look of pity in people's eyes, or was it sorrow? He wasn't sure anymore, the looks all looked the same now and he hated it all just the same and how it reminded of him of everything they had lost.

And that she was gone.

He hated the sound of the ticking clock and how it echoed through the house, reminding him that life went on and he was standing still, stuck between what was and half realities.

He hated the way Haley hovered around, always appearing when all he wanted to be was alone.

But he'd never say a thing; he let her fret around the house cleaning, watching how she'd pause at picture's of Peyton, her fingers gently brushing over her captured image, her eyes closing before she'd continue on her way.

He hated how her voice, every now and than, would drift through the quiet, reminding him of some bill he had forgotten or an activity Peyton had long ago set up for Sawyer to attend.

And he hated how he'd simply nod in response, watching her movements and waiting for that moment when she'd turn and look at him in that way he'd grown to hate.

He hated how Brooke would cling to him a little longer. Her raspy voice quivering as she fought her tears, too afraid to let them fall.

He hated how she was too afraid to tell him she missed her best friend and life just wasn't the same without her.

He hated the way he'd hear her whispering stories about Peyton to Sawyer, her voice fading whenever he'd walk into the room and she'd stare at him with that look in her eyes.

And he hated the way she could never really meet his eyes anymore.

He hated how Nathan was the only one who never let his sorrow shallow him whole, pushing him to leave the house and live.

He hated how it seemed like Nathan was moving on and forgetting all that she meant, when it reality he knew he was struggling along with the rest of them.

He hated it all and he wished the ticking clock would stop and time would stand still and he could just pretend for one moment, one second that she was still there and they weren't alone.

* * *

He found solace in sitting with her. His back pressed against that old willow tree, just a stone's throw from her mother's grave. He'd sit there for hours, just talking to her, telling her how much Sawyer had changed in the short time she'd been gone and how he was trying.

Sometimes he'd sit there in silence just listening to the sounds around him and wondering if she was there beside him, missing him like he missed her.

Sometimes he'd get angry with her, he'd curse her and the silence when he'd couldn't hear her voice in his head and he'd feel tears burning the back of his eyes and he'd bow his head just as the sobs would rack his body, wishing he could hold it in because he had always been the strong one.

Sometimes he would just lie there, curled on his side, his hand pressed against the damp grass, right over where she laid, like she was beside him and they were somewhere else. He'd close his eyes and picture her, her hand in his, gently rubbing over that scar on his right palm and he'd whisper how he missed her and how he'd love her until the end of time.

But most of the time, he'd sit there before her headstone, his legs out before him, crossed at the ankles with Sawyer tucked at his side, staring at her name and those years with that small dash between and those words craved in stone;

_Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer-Scott_

_Loving mother, friend, daughter  
__and wife_

"_There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more  
__Than to feel you deep in my heart."_

They'd sit there for hours, staring at that stone and those words with Sawyer softly whispering to her mother. Her small hand pressed in his and he'd image her sitting there before them, legs crossed all with that smile he knew told him, she loved them more then anything.

Sometimes he'd pull that book and that crayon from his jacket pocket and simply write everything she was in the margins. Sawyer's soft voice whispering in his ear, everything she was to her.

_She was my mamma._

He can still her yell his name, the tone scaring him so that as he stood, his chair flew back, crashing to the ground with a resounding thud and left his heart pounding in his chest.

He could still see that look in her eyes as he rounded the corner, his heart in his throat but when she softly whisper, her voice low as she whispered _she called me momma._ He had wanted to laugh at that moment but when he saw those tears in her green eyes, all he could do was close the distance between them and pull her to him.

She had clung to him in that moment. Her hands clasped around his shirt, holding him close as her shoulders shook until he heard that faint laugh he loved, escape her lips and she pulled back with a smile and a look of utter amazement and words that had left him laughing and pulling her back to him; _I'm someone's momma._

_She was home._

He can remember the moment when he first realized she was home, that she was everything to him.

He had been away, another book tour when he had quietly padded through the darken house, making his way to their room in an attempt not to wake Sawyer. Not to wake her.

His movements stilling when he caught sight of her silhouette in their darken bedroom, her chest gently rising and falling in an even pattern and he hadn't wanted to move from that spot. He'd been content just watching her sleep and the grace that had been all her.

The grace she never let the outside world see.

But he did move, slipping from his dress pants and letting the button down shirt fall from his shoulders and only really noticing how's she was sleeping when he stood by the edge of the bed. She had been curled around _his_ pillow, on _his_ side of the bed, with _his _old Raven's t-shirt on. Her golden hair fanned out around her and he couldn't help but smile at the beauty was all her in that moment.

With a gentle touch, he had reached out and stroked her cheek, hoping to lull her awake long enough for to get her to move over, because he knew how much she hated it when he slept on her side. He had laughed when she had told him that, only for his laughter to fade when she had simply whispered that she liked half the bed smelling like him because when he was gone, it reminded her that he was there.

And he was home, _her_ home.

His breathe had hitched when her eyes slowly fluttered open and there was no denying it. Not anymore because when her lips curved upward and she softly whispered y_ou're home_ he realized in that moment she was everything that embodied the meaning of home.

_She made the best root beer floats on rainy days._

They were supposed to go the beach but when they woke to the sound of pouring rain, their plans changed and Sawyer was treated to her first root beer float.

She had pouted. Her green eyes narrowed in that squint that Peyton had once told him, she wanted their child to have, glaring out the window at the rain that hadn't stopped falling since they woke. He had tried to coax her away from the window with a game of Wii but she simply glared back at him, her arms folded across her chest. He had wanted to speak but before the words came, the sound of clicking glass and a thud from the kitchen had that glare fading from Sawyer's eyes and her arms to fall to her side. Her gaze drifting down the hall.

She had glanced at him and back down towards the kitchen, her lips turning upward slightly at the sound of Peyton humming, what she knew was another Cure song; _lovesong_. He smiled down at her, his hand reaching out for her smaller one, before gently leading her down the hall and towards the kitchen.

He had chuckled at the sight that meet them; a smiling Peyton, a bucket of melting ice cream, a liter of root beer and three over flowing floats.

And their ruined day at the beach was forgotten with just one sip.

_She laid with me when I was sick._

He remembers the first time Sawyer was really sick. He remembers the fear that shone in Peyton's eyes as she held her in her arms. Her soothing voice whispering in her ear as she gently rocked her. Sawyer had been three and had fever of 102 that sent them flying to the emergency room.

He had tried to take her from Peyton, but she just clung tighter to her, pressing her small form closer to her chest. Her hand gently combing through Sawyer's long blonde curls, her eyes filled with fear and tears that he knew she had been battling since they woke to sound of Sawyer crying.

And Sawyer only wanted her mother, her cries growing louder whenever another came near.

He watched them, laying there in that hospital bed, Sawyer cradled in Peyton's arms, her soft voice gently lulling her to sleep with the faint sounds of the hospital around them.

And it was how he would find them whenever Sawyer was sick; Peyton laying on her side, Sawyer curled into her as her hand gently brushed through their daughters hair, her eyes closed as she hummed a song, lulling Sawyer to sleep.

* * *

He wrote it all down, every memory, adding to the growing list of all the things she was and all the things she meant to them.

He wrote how she walked and how the sound of her laughter sounded like music. He wrote how her eyes would brighten at the sight of their daughter and how she'd tell him, in the late of night that Sawyer was the best part of her, of them.

He wrote how Sawyer thought the world of her and how she wanted to be like her. He wrote how she looked like Peyton a little more each day and how he was grateful he had a part of her still.

He wrote how he adored her beyond no end and how it ached to be without her. He wrote about the pain and the beauty that had been their life. He wrote it all down with words that he knew could never really do her justice.

He read and re-read each word, taking his time with each word he wrote and letting the memories wash over them as they'd sit there for hours with the warm summer breeze blowing.

His hand flew across those pages, filling in the empty spaces with words that described her; _beautiful, brave, curious._ With each turn of the page, the empty spaces faded until he reached the end and he wrote the two words that left his eyes stinging with tears and his heart aching a little more; _She's gone._


	4. Chapter 4

_When you're dancing and laughing and finally living,  
__hear my voice in your head and think of me kindly.  
__~ "Rubber Ring" The Smiths_

One year.

8765.8127 hours.

It had been one year since he held that glass of wine to his lips and took that sip. One year since he last saw her smile, heard her whisper those three words which often left him breathless and falling in love all over again. One year since he last felt her gentle touch against his skin. One year since he last heard her laugh, felt her lips brush his.

525,600 minutes.

It had been one year since he heard that last breathless sigh of his name on her lips and his world crashed down around him with the sound of crashing metal against metal.

31,556,925 seconds.

It had been one year full of tears and anger. One year full of fighting the laughter and giving into sorrow. One year full of learning to let go and hanging on.

Didn't matter how one said it, it all came back to one thing and one thing only; it had been one year since he last held her hand in his and nothing could change that.

Not one thing.

365 days.

One year.

* * *

The first thing he noticed that morning, and every morning since _that_ day, was that picture of her that still sat on her bedside table staring back at him. It had been taken the week before she died. She was laughing, her head tilted back, his arms wrapped around her waist, smiling down at her, holding her close as she held Sawyer in her arms with the sun illuminating her in just the right way that when Haley had given it to her, she said she looked like an angel.

He had laughed at her words, his arms wrapping around Peyton's waist, pulling her to him, all with a smirk and the whispered words _I told you she was an angel_ on his lips. It had earned him an eye roll from both women but he just pulled Peyton tighter to him, his lips brushing against her temple with words that left Peyton blushing, whispered in her ear and Haley walking out of the room, mumbling under breath _to get a room_.

It hurts to look at that picture so he always closes his eyes, turns away and buries his face into her pillow, inhaling her scent and telling himself she was still there, laying beside him and he wasn't going to spend another day missing her.

And the last year was really just a dream.

But then he'd hear the bedroom door creek open and tiny feet patter across the floor before those tiny hands would frame his face and her voice would fill the quiet, whispering with tears in her voice for him to wake, with a plea that left him wishing he could change it all.

He'd peak through closed lids, catching sight of her unshed tears, clinging to golden lashes and he'd hear _her_ voice whispering in his ear that _she_ needs him.

That's she's still with them and he's not really in it alone.

With those soft words in his ear, he'd reach out and pull Sawyer's up onto that bed he can't get rid of, her golden curls coming to rest upon that pillow he won't wash, in fear of loosing the very scent of her. His finger's brushing those tears away as he'd whisper those comforting words he once whispered to another, _that it would be alright_ when all along he just wanted to break down and cry himself.

They'd lay there for hours, his fingers running through Sawyer's hair, lulling her back to sleep with stories of their life together until he'd catch a glimpse of that picture and that smile and those tears he'd been fighting, would fall.

* * *

He told himself he would start to let go after one year but standing there, in the middle of their bedroom and her smiling face staring back, he wondered if he could really let her go.

Even if it was a little at a time.

With a brush of fingers to her captured image, he made his way out to the living room, pausing at the bowl that held the keys to his car, his hand shaking as he slowly reached out and clasped them in his hand.

He hadn't driven that car since Nathan restored it months after the accident and parked it beside the comet, telling him that was where it belonged, beside that car. _They were a pair_, he had said. _Like salt and pepper shakers_ he added with a smirk. He would have laughed, tossed his brother a smirk in return if it had been a different time and she wasn't gone but he just simply shrugged his shoulders and walked away, telling him it didn't matter anymore for she was gone and he wasn't a pair of anything anymore and he was alone.

He'd sometimes hear that old car roar to life. See it's reflection in the window as Nathan slowly drove it around the block but he never stepped foot into it. He'd just pretend it was her and he'd sit there and wait for the sound of that door closing and for her to come bouncing through the front door with that smile that said she loved him and always would.

Shaking his head of the memories, he took a deep breath and eased open the front door, his hand held out toward Sawyer with a faint smile. Her small hand slipped into his with an ease that reminded him of the first time he held Peyton's. She smiled up at him just like Peyton had her green eyes wide and full of everything he had seen in another and standing there, he swore to himself he'd change that look just like he had done for her mother.

With a wink, he lead them from the house and to that car he hadn't driven in a year and pulled the old graying car cover Nathan had placed over it, off. His eyes stung at the sight of the old mustang. Ever mark it bore from that day was gone. Like _that day_ never happened.

But it did and he could still see it all in his mind.

Blinking back the tears, he helped Sawyer into the back of the car and into her car seat before climbing in himself. With a twist of the key, the car purred to life and his eyes closed at the sound, his hand reaching over to the passenger seat, resting over where she last sat.

Where he last held her hand.

_A slight gasp slipped from her lips. Her hand tightened in his, her nails digging into his palm. He was thrown forward and as his head whipped forward, he saw her launch into the air bag before her, her hand yanked from his as he felt the car flip to the right and heard the car slide against the pavement. When the car finally came to a stop, he tugged at his seatbelt, his hand frantically searched for hers, for her. He lifted his hand, held it before his eyes, feeling what he thought was her hand in his and seeing only blood where her nails had dug into his palm. _

_It shook before him, his hand and he called out to her as he struggled to release himself as panic wash over him, that hand stinging. He pulled himself free, limping to a standing position and slowly made his way around the crumpled vehicle. He told himself he'd find her crying and okay, not staring back at him with a blank empty look like she was, her hand extended out, as if reaching for him. _

_He fell to his knees, a loud cry escaping his lips as he reached for her, his hands coming to rest on either cheek, cradling her face in his hands. Her emerald eyes staring back at him as he pleaded with her, with God, with whoever could hear him for her to be okay._

_He pulled. His hand gripping hers, his voice pleading with her to help him free her but she just laid there, her eyes open and staring off into the distance and he cried out in pain as he crawled back to her and gently lifted her head and resting it on his lap. His tears falling freely as he rocked back and forth, her hand in his, begging her to just squeeze it once but she never did. And he felt a part of himself shatter into a thousand pieces._

_He could hear the sirens racing in the distance towards them and knowing they were too late. He could hear the cries of sorrow from the man who hit them, his voice pleading for forgiveness. He could hear Nathan rushing towards him, feel his hands gently trying to pry Peyton from him but he just held tighter to her and cried, telling himself he was somewhere else holding her._

"Daddy?"

Shaking his head of the memory of that day, he glanced in the rearview mirror at their daughter and smiled, his voice low, "Yes baby?"

"Are we going to visit Momma?"

With a nod of his head, he put the old mustang into gear and slowly back out of the driveway and made his way to their destination.

* * *

The green grass was damp with morning dew. Birds twittered about with song, their melodies reminding him of another approaching spring, another season without her.

He smile's fondly at Sawyer's favorite teddy bear that now rest against the polished stone, her soft words fresh in his mind when he asked if she was sure she wanted to leave him behind. With a nod, she slipped her tiny hand into his and whispered; _so she doesn't get lonely, Daddy._

He kneels down upon the damp grass, his arms wrapped around Sawyer, holding her close to his chest, his chin resting against her shoulder, a faint smile on his lips as Peyton's voice softly whispers in his ear that she told him so and he laughs. Laughs like he hasn't since he last time he held her in his arms and she looked at him with all the wonder of a woman in love.

He laughs until there are tears in his eyes and Sawyer's small hands are pressed against his cheeks, gently wiping away each tear with the tenderness that screams Peyton and has him yanking her small frame into his arms and holding her close to his heart as he whispered over and over that he was sorry he couldn't save her.

It's the feel of Sawyer's lips against his cheek and the soft whisper of _She's holding your hand_ in his ear that has him pushing her back, his hands coming to rest on her small waist, his brow furrowed in confusion at her words.

"Mamma told me," She whispered softly before lifting his hand from her waist and gently turning his palm face up, tracing the faint scars the bore the marks of Peyton's nails from that day. "See?"

Glancing down, for the first time in a year at his hand, he saw those scars and how they marked where she last touched him. He never wanted to look, to see those scars for then he'd have to admit that it had happened and she was gone but he knew they were there; he felt them whenever he brushed his fingers across his palm.

Or when Sawyer gently traced each scar with her finger as she whispered words he never really heard.

And now seeing them and the way each scar formed a slight bump where her nails pierced his skin, the only physical scars he bore from the accident, he could feel her hand there, gripping his like she was there with them.

He curled his hand around Sawyers, pressing it against those scars, his eyes shimmering with tears when he meet her glistening green gaze with a faint smile, "She is, isn't she?"

She smiled up at him with that smile that said she adored him and always would. "Daddy, can we read to Momma?"

With a nod of his head, he opened his arms to her and helped her settle into his lap, his back pressed against that old willow tree and reached for that book leaning against that polished stone, the words _All She Ever Was_, and that picture from her bedside graced its cover. He printed it, all those words, all those memories that were her, that made up their life, he put to paper. He wrote about that day and how it changed his life and published it for the world read and so he wouldn't forget and they would know just what she meant to him, to Sawyer and to their friends.

Cracking open that book, he glanced at her headstone, her name staring back and he can't help but smile, thinking she's sitting there, curled beside him like she had so many times before as he'd read those words he had written long ago, from that book she loved.

Pressing his lips to Sawyer's temple, he turned to the first page and began to read as a light spring breeze blew, "It was like any other day when I first saw her and all I could think was she was beautiful…"

**_~fin._**


End file.
